Emmy
by LoveChilde
Summary: On her birthday, the White Queen takes a walk down memory lane.


Emma opened one eye, then another ****

Disclaimer: Say it with me-Marvel's is Marvel's. I'm using the concept and characters without permission, but with no intent to make any money, so it's kinda okay, I hope. 

Thanks: To Joannie, my faithful beta reader, and to my good bud Dr. Seuss, who helped me decide on a title and now has to re-evaluate our friendship. I told him he shouldn't read it. 

This doesn't fit anywhere in continuity- assume before or during six-months gap, and before Ev's death.

Books and songs belong to the authors and composers.

Emma opened one eye, then another. Warm, soft, dark. Where? Oh, yes, bed. Safe. What time is it?

She glanced at her bedside table. 4:29 flashed the neon digits. I'll never be able to go back to sleep now, she thought. Then she remembered what day it was, and smiled as excitement rushed through her. It always happened-as far back as she could remember, she always woke up extra early on her birthday. It was annoying most of the time, but there was nothing she could do about it. 

She rolled out of bed, and turned on the light. As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she allowed childish hope to flow, only to be disappointed when she could see clearly-her room was unchanged-no balloons, greeting cards or wrapped boxes to be found. 

"It was stupid to hope," she told herself. No one at the school knew it was her birthday today- she'd made sure of that when she erased her birth-date from the school's records. She knew all their birthdays, of course. Not that she did anything if they didn't mention it, but she liked to keep track. They didn't celebrate birthdays, most of the time. When Angelo turned 19, they were hiding in Canada, under her control. When Jubilee turned 16, she was probably being interrogated by Bastion, or somewhere in the desert. They'll have a nice big party this year, Emma decided. Monet's 18th birthday was in three weeks…

While these thought ran around in her head, she showered, dressed and then went to look out the window at the new day. As much as she liked early morning, the view outside really wasn't all that exciting. It was still dark, windy and cloudy, with a promise of rain to come. For the millionth time, Emma wondered why she had to be born in November, of all months. The only good thing about her birthday was that it sometimes landed on Thanksgiving. She sighed, and decided she needed some cheering up before she gave herself the special birthday gift she'd prepared the night before. She hit the 'play' button on her CD player. It would probably take her a while to get bored with 'Sound of Silence', so she put it on permanent replay. She plugged in her small electrical teapot and made herself some tea. She figured on about an hour before anyone got up, since it was a Sunday- plenty of time to do what she planned.

Two cups of tea later Emma decided that it was time. She pulled out a cardboard box from under her desk. On it were the words 'Emma's Stuff. STAY OUT!' in a childish scrawl. She smiled at the memories. It was the last of the boxes of her personal things she'd gotten out of storage several weeks earlier. Her parents had packed most of them after she went to the clinic, and the rest after they disowned her. It had taken quite a fight to get them out again. She had gone through the other boxes during those weeks, on and off, whenever she could snatch a few free minutes. Now she opened the last one carefully. On the top was a dusty china doll with a blue dress that was frayed at the edges. Emma lifted her gently.

"Marie…It's been a long time." She whispered, holding the toy close, but carefully. She remembered hoping to keep the doll for her daughter, and smiled sadly. She'd had human dolls to play with since that time, but Marie had definitely been a better companion than most of them. She put the doll aside, on her pillow where she used to stay in her old room. 

Next was a file full of old school report cards, prizes and medals she'd won. She looked fondly at the gold disk with the small horse on it-first place in the riding club competition when she was eleven- and the silver medal from the ice-skating thing when she was twelve. All these were over now. They joined the doll on Emma's bed. 

Several music books hid under that file, yellow with age. Her favorite piano pieces, which she hadn't played in years. She changed her mind about the music, and put on Mozart instead. The long-forgotten note sheets went on the bed.

Books came next, all of Emma's old favorites. Mostly 'girly-books'-Little Women, Anne of Green Gables and it's many sequels, as well as several Famous Five books. She paged through them joyfully, celebrating the reunion. Most of them she hadn't read in nearly twenty years. Then she shook herself back into reality. There was no time for this, not now. With that particular decision, she got up to make sure her door was locked. Reassured, she went back to her trip down memory-lane. 

There was an envelope full of pictures of forgotten friends, some whose names she couldn't even recall. Many were of her and her best friend Bianca St. Michael's, on various school trips and at home. She'd kept tabs on Bianca, now married happily with three children in Los Angeles, but had never tried to contact her. That was all behind her, and she had no wish to rebuild burnt bridges.

The most important item in the box was at the very bottom, under her old cheerleading uniform and a friendship bracelet. The envelope said: "From myself at 13 to myself at 30. Do not open before 11/26/2000. If your name is not EMMA GRACE FROST, go away!" Emma smiled at herself, so young and naive, who'd have known? She carefully unfolded the letter.

__

Happy birthday, Emmy, The letter started, 

__

So, how does it feel to be 30? Must be weird. I know Emily writes the letter for herself in ten years, but 23 just doesn't seem all that far away, I mean, Addi's almost 20!

Emma had been very impressed with Emily's idea in the book, of writing a letter to her future self, she remembered, vaguely, writing the letter on the day of her 13th birthday.

__

So, here I am, writing to you. Emma marveled at how much her handwriting had changed-was that really her? _I'm not bothering with the date and address, you know where we live and what day it is, right?_

So, Emmy, are we married? Is he a nice man? I'm sure he is. We have an excellent taste, even Mommy says so. Do we have children yet? Did it hurt? Bianca said having kids hurts. 

Oh, the innocence long gone, Emma sighed. The small dream of living a normal life with a husband and children had gone out the window about a year or so later, and apart from bits of depression when she was very, very drunk, Emma didn't even think about it anymore. Still, that biological clock was ticking away. The next lines made her smile.

__

No kids yet? Tick-tock, Emmy, tick-tock, as Mommy likes to say. The Frost bloodline must continue, and we can't really trust Addi or Cor, can we? I mean, Corrie's only 6! And Addi's too stuck up to even have a boyfriend, and she's OLD!

When did twenty seem old to her, Emma wondered. Nowadays, twenty seemed young, innocent, and, like most things in the box, highly irrelevant to her current situation. It seemed fitting that she didn't trust her sisters even then. The bitches.

__

Do we at least have a boyfriend? Come on, Emmy, you're 30! I'm sure we've kissed already, at least, and done you-know-what. How was it? I tried to ask Addi, but she wouldn't tell me. Bianca's sister Trish says that hurts as well. Does everything that's supposed to be fun hurt? Suddenly, I don't think I wanna grow up anymore.

Ah, yes, Trish. The ultimate authority on boys, though only two years older than them. She had enough brains to tell them very little and keep them begging for more without knowing enough to get into trouble. Later Emma had found out that Trish wasn't all that knowledgeable, either. She closed her eyes and shivered as memories she'd been trying to repress for years resurfaced. Her first time…with a brutal guard at the clinic. The innocent child in her had died that night, and on the following nights, and for nearly two years that followed them, again and again every night. In that case Trish had beenright, it had hurt. It had hurt on all those times, and for a long time afterwards. Even when Emma had sex for pleasure or profits, willingly and with a person she cared about, something in her recoiled in revulsion and expected pain. She shook her head and went on reading.

__

How was high school? Was it as fun as it looks? Have we won any more ice skating medals? And how was college? Did we even go? How are mom and dad?

Emma was lost in memories again, and tears filled her eyes. Her parents were dead- Adrienne had seen to that. High school, college? She had no memories of those. She had the school of life. What change had come over her, she wondered, that had allowed the child she had been to survive?A tear ran down her face, part in mourning of her lost childhood, and part in gratefulness that that child had had three more happy months-or had she? The next lines were hesitating, nearly erased.

__

Emmy…Do we still hear voices? Sometimes, late at night? Can we still hear things nobody else can? You're the only grownup I can talk to about this, and you don't exist yet! I'm scared, Emmy…

The next words had been smudged away by tears, and several new ones landed on the paper now, to be hastily wiped away. Emma wiped her cheeks angrily. There was no point in crying now. She enjoyed her powers, didn't she? But she remembered long nights of sleeplessness, hearing her parents' thoughts and sharing her sisters' dreams, days of splitting headaches that completely disabled her. Those had started after her birthday, though. Exactly a week later. She endured over a month of fear and shame over what was happening to her alone, then turned to her nanny, who told her parents, who sent her to a doctor, who sent her to the clinic. Looking back, that had been either the best or the worst thing that ever happened to her, maybe both.

__

Did we study art? Or maybe English? I guess you don't have to work for a living- married money like mommy always wanted, I hope.

No child, Emma thought, my money is my own. I need no man to support me. Old-fashioned ideas like those drove 'mommy' to alcoholism out of sheer boredom. I'm quite certain I had more fun than she had, although the cost might have been the same- her body, my soul… Emma pulled herself out of the chasm of morbidity she was about to fall into. *I HAVE a soul, and it's a perfectly functional one. * She couldn't make herself say she had a 'good' soul. That was just too…unthinkable, really.

__

Where do we live? I hope we're still in Boston, or maybe New York. We promised mommy to NEVER move to the West Coast, remember? Are we in Europe, maybe? Well, wherever we are, I hope it looks nice.

Very nice, although I doubt you'd have enjoyed the remoteness, Emma replied to her shadow-self. The superficial teen she had been had taken a long time to learn to appreciate silence and privacy.

__

Well, time for The List. Let's see how many of those we've done:

1.Married a tall, handsome man who loves us more than life itself.

I live in a house with a tall, relatively presentable man, who might like me a lot, but has no romantic feelings toward me. Thank God for small favors.

__

2.Had at least two beautiful, talented children.

Well, do six very gifted teenagers count? Although of course, they aren't MINE.

__

3.Finished college and found a nice job, at least until we married, yes?

Took a few courses, I think, between my first and second millions. And I have a very nice job, which I enjoy, thank you very much.

__

4.Won at least one more skating medal. A gold, this time, please.

Oh, give me a break.

5._Visited every continent at least once. Including Antarctica_.

Well, at least that I can say I've done. Even Antarctica, at least for a short time. And or the life of me I can't remember why I did that. Maybe there something of that child in me still.

__

6.Cultivated a name for myself in the highest social circles, and had something written about me in either Cosmopolitan or People.

Does the Hellfire Club count? Probably. You can't be much more elite than that. Why did she ever want something as silly as an article in a magazine? Well, she had that, at least partially. 'Forbes' had done an article about her when she took over that high-tech firm five years earlier. The title had been very nice- "Rising business tycoon Emma Frost takes over Microtech". There wasn't much of a study on her, of course, and most of the details were false, but it had been one of her prouder moments. Especially the way she'd 'convinced' the owner of Microtech that he was just DYING to sell. She smiled.

__

7. Still kept in touch with all our best friends-especially Bi.

Emma blinked. Had she really wanted that? No way. That gaggle of giggling teens…Boring socialites today, no doubt. She would have wiped their minds and replaced them with something more useful out of sheer boredom. Then again, she hadn't had any kind of friend since then. People came in two groups nowadays- usable and unusable. The useful people she exploited, the ones she didn't want or need she avoided. They were almost always dangerous. Still, a voice in her head asked, where did that put Sean and the kids? They weren't friends, but they weren't enemies or pawns either. A duty? A responsibility? Of course, but not a burden. She almost enjoyed teaching most of the time. They were preparation, she decided. People it was her job to educate. Her small effort towards the next generation. What a very nice thought to start the fourth decade of her life with.

__

There, all done. I'm not asking too much, am I? Oh, I just remembered, how was the millenium? Wow…the MILLENIUM! I'm so jealous. Oh well, I hope we enjoyed it.

We were kind of busy saving the world. It was rather fun, though, sipping champagne in the infirmary.

Never thought we'd go into first aid, did you? Emma asked herself. The letter was drawing towards the inevitable ending.

__

Mommy's coming, and I don't have much to say. I guess…Just that I hope that the next 30 years will be as fun as those probably were.

Love, always, and happy birthday, 

13 years old Emma.

Yes, I've always loved myself. At least that hasn't changed. Attached to the bottom of the letter there was a faded photo of herself just before she turned 13. She stared at it for a long time, lost in thoughts and memories. Shouts from outside pulled her violently back into the present. The children needed her. Very well, she'll go. Of course she would. They need her. She got up and placed the letter back in the box. Life goes on, she reminded herself.

Happy birthday, Emma.


End file.
